A Stolen Moment
by Ace of Fours
Summary: Lemony-delicious oneshot. Set during 'The Escape,' human!Wheatley. After Wheatley injures himself getting to the template turret, Chell discovers his deep-seated self esteem issues and finds a way to make him understand how important he is to her.


"Look, it's hardly even bleeding anymore!"

Chell glares up at the man for a moment, his shoulders hunched up to his ears, his brow knit. He is staring at her impatiently. It's an unusual expression on him, and she isn't certain it's one she particularly likes. She merely shakes her head in response and pulls his badly slashed hand closer. It _is_ still bleeding. And it's certainly not 'hardly' bleeding, either. Her hands are stained with his blood. It scared her out of her wits when he suddenly punched right through the pane of glass, in complete disregard of his own safety just to get to the template turret. That was Wheatley in a nutshell; doing something foolish for the benefit of Chell. She frowns as she considers this, wrapping the gauze she'd managed to scrounge up around his wounded hand. It had been difficult enough to get him to stay still to get the glass out in the first place.

"I don't understand why you're making such a big deal about this." he whines, and she holds back a frustrated scowl. "I'm f-f-f-f-ffffine." he stutters, his head spasming off to the side in a tic she's grown accustomed to, ever since GLaDOS beat the living hell out of him. Chell disregards him, though she feels a twinge of guilt at the familiar twitch. She feels it's her fault he was so badly hurt. After all he'd been protecting her from GLaDOS. It nearly tore her apart those days she thought he was dead on her account.

"I really don't get it." Wheatley grumbles as she secures the bandage and looks back up at him. She arches an eyebrow, an unspoken question. It's part of their little silent sign language they've developed over the weeks. He somehow manages to sink lower into his skinny shoulders, darting his gaze away from her. Both her eyebrows go up now. "Well, I mean, it's so bloody _hard_ to get you to stop for a breather after a solid week and a half of testing, it's out of the question, and yet you're more than eager to stop and handle a little scratch on my hand?"

Chell scoffs silently. The injury is _hardly_ a 'scratch.' Of course that's another aspect of his frustratingly selfless personality. He's been in poor condition for weeks now, the cuts on his face barely healed, limping badly. That tic, which could be a sign of some more serious underlying injury. He's always downplaying the severity of his wounds.

Wheatley catches her derisive non-sound (he's good about that) and frowns. "No, really!" he protests, sounding exasperated. Chell's surprised by this. He's never sounded anything short of patient and obliging with her. In fact the only time he'd even come close to it was when he was arguing with Jerry the nanobot. At the time that had been amusing, given her a smile during the trying time she'd spent with GLaDOS. Now it was troubling.

"You're special, Chell." he says, and her surprise doubles. What is he on about? "You're so clever and strong and tenacious…and you're such a …good jumper." he says and she would laugh at the reference to their first meeting if he didn't seem so genuinely troubled. She can't fathom why he's telling her all this. "And…I'm not! I'm not any of those things!" he exclaims. Chell shakes her head vehemently but he plows on. "It's true, luv, I'm slow, and clumsy, and just…I'm not _important._"

Suddenly she wants him to shut up. She _never_ wants him to shut up. Sure she might roll her eyes when he's on a serious rambling streak or give him a nudge when he's stuck on a subject but she never really means it, and he knows that.

"My point is that if you want to stop for something shallow and stupid that happens to me _that is my own fault, _why on earth can't we stop so you can recuperate for a couple of days? _You're _the one who's done anything to get us out of here. All I've done is fuck things up and slow us down!" he says, and Chell is shocked to hear him swearing. Sure, a couple of times she's heard him utter a few 'damn's or 'bloody hell's when he's startled or stumped, but those are to himself and definitely nowhere near as harsh as this. "I almost killed you moving that relaxation chamber around. I woke up GLaDOS. I got you caught and put back into testing. A-A-And I…" he stammers off (this time not from the injury), taking a deep breath, and Chell can see he's on the verge of tears. She can't stand listening to him any longer and she just wants him to stop. She can't tell him to shut up so instead she does the only thing she can think to do.

She lunges at him, seizing either side of his face, and crushes her mouth to his. A very startled 'hrrrmph!' burbles out of his throat at the clumsy action and he's forced slightly backward, bracing himself on his arms. His glasses press against her face a little uncomfortably, but she doesn't care at the moment. She wants—needs him to stop and this seems to be working. She needs him to see, too, that he _is_ important, he _is _special, that she would have gone insane or died long ago without him. That when she thought he was dead it was _hell._

She shifts herself so that her knees are resting on either side of his outstretched legs. He's still totally frozen in shock. For his sake she sits back, resting her weight on his knees. At the expression on Wheatley's face (his naturally wide eyes even larger than usual, jaw slack, cheeks flushed) she suddenly wonders if that was the best idea. He looks almost frightened.

Silence hangs in the air for a few moments. "Wh-what…why'd you…?" Wheatley stumbles over his own words. Chell is regretting her actions wholly now. He just looks so stunned, and with her lack of human interaction it's impossible for her to tell if it's in a good way or not. His eyes search hers with uncertainty, and she knows he's trying to glean an explanation from her. Her shoulders raise and fall in a silent sigh and she moves to climb off him, shame and frustration heating her face.

"W-w-w-w-wwaait." Wheatley twitches with the word, but with a surprising amount of coordination he takes her by the hand, stilling her. He's still confused, but the shock seems to be wearing off. "Just…don't go yet." he says with a strange fidget. Chell feels a glimmer of hope well up in her chest. She sits on his legs, more on his thighs now, and Wheatley lets go of her hand. For a moment he just looks at her, studying her.

Chell does the same. Not that she's never taken the time to glance him over before, since he's the only adult human male (scratch that, the only _human_) she's seen in a lifetime. She recatalogs the details she's already acknowledged. The large blue eyes that are so bright they're nearly luminescent. The thin scruff of facial hair which she badly wants to feel against her face. His skinny frame, all awkward long limbs, large feet and large hands. Thick, scraggly ginger hair, that she wants to tangle her fingers in. She wonders if he's thinking similar things about her, or if he's still just stumped.

She discovers upon examining Wheatley's current expression that he's not confused, nor afraid, but just strangely pensive. He chews on his lower lip a bit, and he sort of leans forward, just an inch, barely detectable. It could be dismissed as a flinch, a minor version of his debilitating twitch. If Chell didn't know him so well, then she would have. She doesn't. She leans forward, slowly, giving him time to pull back if he wants, not aiming just to surprise him this time.

Wheatley doesn't retract. In fact he leans forward, a bit more this time, expectantly. "Go on, luv." he whispers, almost inaudibly, and Chell wonders why on earth he's afraid to initiate it himself. Nonetheless, she kisses him again, and this time it's truly a jolt up her spine. He's no longer giving her an impression of a dead fish. His lips slide against hers, and after a few moments of this Chell slips her tongue into his mouth. He sucks a sharp breath in through his nose and reacts fantastically, tensing beneath her, and experimentally drawing her tongue in even further. Chell's eyes fall shut and her hands come up to grasp at his shirtfront.

Seeming to forget that his arms are currently holding him up, he floats his hands up to grasp Chell's shoulders. In a split second he falls back, pulling Chell with him, cracking his head loudly against the ground. She flinches and moves her hands to brace above either of his shoulders, pushing herself slightly off him, worried that he's hurt himself. The second she pulls away Wheatley lets out a strange little whine. "I'm fine, really, just, please don't stop…" he begs, tugging slightly at her shoulders, and the utter need in his voice sends a wave of heat through her body. How can she resist that?

First, though, she takes his head gently in her hands, tilts it forward and kisses back of his head, where he smacked the ground. He laughs lightly, grinning from ear to ear as she sets his head back down, very carefully. It seems his self put-down session has been all but forgotten and Chell is glad for that. She's straddling his waist now, practically laying on him as she resumes her passionate, near-furious kiss. She experiments, trying to find what draws the strongest reactions from him. She presses her tongue against the roof of his mouth and she feels him groan into it, the vibration of the sound shooting straight from her throat, through her chest and down into a point between her hips. She moves on to suck on his lower lip, holding it between her teeth, and this time the sound is doubly loud.

And that's when she realizes that he's not just moaning incoherently. He's _trying to speak._ The thought brings her to a fit of silent giggles, that even when his mouth is almost totally occupied, he really just cannot for the life of him keep quiet. She has to break off the kiss to laugh, and Wheatley's immediately concerned.

"What? Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry." he panics, and Chell shakes her head. His face lights up somehow brighter, normally pale complexion nearly beet red at this point. "It's…I'm-I'm terrible at this, aren't I? I'm sorry, luv, I really am trying, I've just never done anything like this before and you're doing absolutely mad things to me so it's very very hard to focus, you know?" he flusters, and Chell gives a shake of her head, touching her hand to his lips, pointedly. He considers this for a moment. "Okay, my mouth, yeah, like I said…" he frowns as Chell shakes her head and taps his lips again. "Oh! It's…it's the talking, isn't it? That…made you laugh?' he offers and she nods. "I-I can stop if you like…I can try…" he says, and Chell sighs, shaking her head slightly. "No? So it doesn't bother you?" he asks bemusedly.

In lieu of another nod Chell kisses him on the lips. He leans eagerly into it, looking to get that intimate connection again, but she moves on before he can, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. "Uh, hold on, what…?" Wheatley mumbles, as she trails small kisses across his cheek to his jawline, then to his ear. She nibbles lightly on his earlobe, and his back arches slightly. "Ohh, that's…that feels _really_ good…wh-now what are you doing?" he tilts his head slightly as if trying to get a look at her as she moves on, latching onto his neck. "Ah! That's what you're doing. That's even better, really, absolutely wonderful…" he moans, his voice quavering with tension. As she lightly marks his neck she works a hand around to his chest, fiddling with some difficulty at the buttons of his shirt.

After a few moments Wheatley pulls himself from his haze and looks down at his shirt. "Are you trying to get that off? Here." he says, and without a second's warning he lifts Chell completely off him, scooting back so he can prop his back against the nearest wall before setting her back down on his legs. While Chell is stunned by the sudden move he starts working at his own buttons. "I'll take care of it, just a second." he mutters, and Chell giggles again. He's missed the point, hasn't he? But he's insistent on doing this himself, because once Wheatley is confident he can do something nothing can deter him.

It doesn't take long for him to divest himself of the shirt and he wriggles out of it, tongue poking between his lips as the tattered white cloth slips off his shoulders. He beams proudly at her. "There we are! Uh…" he blinks as Chell places her hands on his bare chest. Her eyes soften as she notices the bruises and cuts there, carefully making sure she doesn't graze them. He slumps his shoulders, his trademark sign of sheepishness and self-consciousness, and it's just so terribly endearing. "Oh. Right. Th-they don't hurt anymore, honestly." he says. "You don't have to…to stop…" he says hopefully. Chell smiles and leans down to brush her lips against the bruise that looks like it hurts the least. He doesn't wince, so that's a good sign. She continues to the next mark on his otherwise smooth skin, giving it the same treatment, and then the next and the next. Wheatley relaxes, shutting his eyes at letting his head roll back. "Mm. That definitely helps." he sighs, and Chell glances up at him, brow arched. He cracks open an eye and grimaces guiltily. "Not that they were still hurting or anything…" he amends, giving her a wide smile.

While Chell continues her own little treatment of his wounds, Wheatley becomes a bit bolder. His hands, which had remained at his side this whole time, ghost up and down Chell's sides, exploring the dips and curves of her figure. It sends a shiver up her spine. And just as she reaches the end of her ministrations, one of his large hands grazes her breast. She gasps and he jerks his hand back, pressing himself as far back against the wall as he can manage.

"I am so sorry, really, I didn't mean to, just lost track of myself. It won't happen again, I promise." he blurts, starting to shift out from under her, and Chell can feel he's about to bolt. She grabs the wrist of his uninjured hand and presses it firmly against her chest. It's blunt, but he gets the message.

"Well." he practically coughs the word. Chell smiles and he reflects it. The balance shifts, in an unspoken agreement, and it's his turn to take the initiative, his turn to experiment. He's ridiculously gentle at first, tentatively cupping her breast in his hand as if he's worried that she'll shatter with the least amount of pressure. Then he gives a light squeeze, maddeningly so, just enough for her to feel. He seems to notice the way she fidgets at the touch, and raises his eyebrows. "Do you like that?" he asks, and his frank manner of speaking is both amusing and arousing. She simply nods. "Right, okay…" he mutters, furrowing his brow in concentration as if working a difficult puzzle, wanting to get this just right.

After a lingering, slightly awkward moment of him staring at her chest, one hand still groping one breast, Wheatley seems to get a brainwave, letting out a murmured "ah ha" of revelation, and brings his free arm around Chell's shoulders, drawing her closer and pressing his lips to hers, lashing his tongue against hers. Meanwhile his hand massages each of her breasts in turn, relishing in the feeling of Chell's slowly strengthening reactions. Apparently multitasking had been the way to go, after all. He feels her moans, rather than hears them, but that doesn't deter his enthusiasm in the least. Wheatley continues in this manner for several long moments before sliding his hand down her stomach and slipping it under her tank top.

Chell is disappointed to find that Wheatley is breaking off their kiss. "Do you…do you mind?" he asks. She smiles her approval and rubs his arm encouragingly. He smiles faintly and works his hand up past the fabric, and the skin to skin contact makes her hiss. His smile flickers to more of a wide, proud grin, and mutters something to himself that sounds to her like "perfect…" as he slides his other arm from around her, grabs the hem of her shirt and in one swift movement pulls it over her head.

It's not entirely unexpected that Wheatley has trouble getting her bra off. It doesn't make it any less amusing, or frustrating, for both of them. "Dammit…" he growls as he fumbles blindly at the clasp. "I can't…get the bloody thing…off!" he struggles out, and Chell rolls her eyes slightly at this statement of the obvious before reaching behind her to unhook it for him. Wheatley looks a bit miffed that he couldn't get it himself but that dissipates in an instant when the bit of fabric slides off her body. "That…now, that is lovely…" he says quietly, the sudden husky tone to his voice sending a crackle of electricity across Chell's skin. She feels suddenly and quite unexpectedly flustered at the compliment, and she squirms a bit before crossing her arms. Wheatley notices. He always does.

"What?" he says, and she shakes her head, not meeting his gaze. He's troubled, confused by her sudden self consciousness. "Do you not believe me?" he asks, and Chell marvels inwardly at how good he is at reading her. He doesn't need an answer to that, he already knows. He reaches out and takes one nipple between a long finger and thumb and rolls it between them, and Chell shuts her eyes at the sensation. "Really. You're lovely. Beautiful. I mean it." he tells her, and the pure, genuine _affection_ in his voice manages to convince her. She lets her arms drop as he moves on to tweak the other nipple.

Wheatley wraps both his arms around Chell's waist, and lifts her slightly up, bringing her chest to the level of his face. It strikes her then how very strong, powerful he is. And yet he's treating her with such care, such caution. Directing all that power into pleasuring her. It makes her shudder. What he does next makes it even worse (or better, rather). He sort of hugs her, pressing his face into her chest, and simply stays there for a moment before dragging his tongue up the slope of her breast and circling it around her nipple. Chell lolls her head back, her lips parted in a silent moan, a moan which she hears echoed beneath her. "Oh, _yes_, absolutely gorgeous…" Wheatley remarks, his voice rumbling against her chest only serving to excite her more. He plants his warm lips around her nipple (temporarily sacrificing his ability to vocalize) and gives the sensitive bit of flesh a thorough probing with his tongue.

It's difficult for Chell to keep a coherent thought as he practically attacks her breasts. She notices for the first time, as one of her legs brushes Wheatley's crotch (which causes him to groan incoherently into her chest), the very hard bulge in his pants. And once she notices, she can't get it off her mind. She grabs Wheatley's shoulders and pushes him off. He lets her slide back down and cocks his head to the side. "What? What's the matter?" he asks bemusedly, clearly unsure of where he went wrong. It's so typically Wheatley. Thinking of her before himself, as always.

The rather wickedly-playful look in Chell's eyes piques Wheatley's interest. He eyes her with a bit of suspicion, anxiousness. She scoots down his legs, dragging her hands down his chest as she does so. "What on earth…where are you going?" he asks, Chell's hands stroking his stomach. "Just when I think I'm starting to get the hang of this you just have to go and change it all up!" he exclaims with exasperation just as she reaches his waistband and unfastens his belt buckle with a _clink. _The sound is very quiet but it draws his attention immediately.

"O-Oh. Uh." Wheatley stammers while she gives the belt a yank, unthreading it from his waist and tossing it in the general vicinity of 'away from them'. "I think I see what you're getting at now." he admits, spluttering slightly. Chell unbuttons his pants to slip them down, though she hardly needs to. He's just so damn_skinny_, his hips are so thin that without the belt there's no resistance getting them off. "Here, let me just…" Eager to help, Wheatley wriggles his way out of them and kicks them to the side. The bucking motion it creates is extraordinarily pleasant for Chell, too. She feels along his bony hips with a small smile, and she can feel Wheatley's eyes boring into her. He's anxious, a bit impatient now that he understands her intentions. "Do you want me to—" he begins to offer, but before he can answer she palms his erection through the fabric of his boxers and he moans. "Or you can handle it, yes, that seems like a good idea. Do whatever it is you're planning on doing, luv."

His voice is strained and thick and it's like music to Chell's ears, like a whole fucking erotic symphony. She wastes no more time in hooking her finger around the elastic of his boxers and tugging them down out of the way. Wheatley bites his lip and groans as his cock is exposed to her for the first time. He probably would have gotten all self-conscious on her if she didn't immediately wrap her small hand around the shaft. His eyes snap wide, wide open and he chokes on an oath that's practically a yelp, as if it was the last thing he was expecting her to do.

"How do you keep doing this?" Wheatley mumbles as Chell strokes slowly up and down, moving her fingers in a undulating, massaging pattern as she does so. She's slightly confused as to what he means but he explains it for her without prompting. "How do you keep making it _better?_ Just when I think this is as good as it gets…" he lets out a huff that is probably meant to be a laugh. Enjoying his reactions far too much, Chell decides to ratchet it up a notch, so without any prelude she places her mouth around the tip of his cock.

The noise that escapes him is strangled nonsense and Chell somehow smiles as she takes the rest of him in her mouth. There's a _wham _from above her and as she glances up she realizes that he's slammed his fist (the unharmed one, thank god!) against the wall behind him. She's stunned and somehow proud at this, the fact that she's driven him this far up the wall that he physically needs to vent it….it's fantastic. The whole time he's been muttering under his breath, a barely audible string of sounds that she isn't even sure make up words, let alone sentences. She does think she catches a stream of profanity in there somewhere, and one of those trademark twitches, though that could be completely organic, she can't be sure. "God, Chell…" he manages to pant coherently.

His eyes have screwed shut now and he looks so utterly tense, so wound up, as if he is about to snap at any moment. His hands twitch, clenching and unclenching as if it's all just become too much of a sensory overload for his motor functions to work properly. It's quite the sight to see, Wheatley, _her_Wheatley, a beautifully inarticulate and spasming mess, all thanks to her efforts. She intends to see this out to the end but, apparently, he has other plans.

"Stop." It's so quiet she doesn't hear it at first. "Stop!" he says more loudly, his voice trembling with the effort of speaking. Chell does so, releasing his cock with a loud, wet sound, and suddenly she's irrationally afraid she's done something wrong. Perhaps he's starting to rub off on her (double entendre aside). Before she can make even the smallest gesture to investigate, he's grabbed her and flipped her onto her back, somehow pulling the feat off both impossibly fast and without hitting her head on the ground. "It doesn't seem fair that I get to have all the fun." Wheatley says with a grin, a slightly wild glint in his eye that sets her heart beating twice it's usual rate.

Chell is too stunned by the sudden turnaround to resist as he tugs the knot out of the jumpsuit sleeves, and yanks it off her. She is suddenly glad that her long fall boots had come off when they'd stopped for this break. In her daze she somehow focuses on totally irrelevant things; for instance, the fact that the plaster of the wall where his fist has collided was cracked inward in a spiderweb pattern. Whether it's just cheap or he is that strong, she's not sure. Her underwear is next to go, Wheatley muttering "These are so much easier than the top half…" as he pulls the fabric free of her. She shivers as the cool air hits her slit, the sensation amplified by the fact that she is already slick and wet with her own arousal.

Wheatley, kneeling between her legs, wastes no time in testing the waters, sliding a single deft finger through her lips, parting them slightly and making her breath hitch in her chest. "God, you're so warm…and soft…" he murmurs, sounding awestruck. Experimentally, he presses his finger past her folds, and it slips easily inside her. If Chell could have screamed then, she would have. Instead she bucked her hips against his hand.

"Oh, bloody _hell_…" he gasps, smiling at her intense response. Trying to get some sort of pattern or rhythm or something going, something to guide him in the right direction, he begins to twist and curl his finger inside her, gauging her various reactions and deciding what works best. It's only when he's sure he's found just the right way to pleasure her that he inserts the second, impossibly long finger. Again it slides in without resistance, and again Chell finds herself cursing her lack of a voice.

The thing is, despite the absolutely priceless reactions he is getting out of her right now, Wheatley knows that he can do one better. She did it for him. He can do it for her. So he maneuvers himself, dropping his head down and draping one of her legs over his shoulder, and applies his newly discovered aptitude with his mouth. The aptitude that _isn't_ talking, that is. Chell nearly loses her mind right then and there. It's unfair that he should have such talent with his tongue and his fingers. It's really no wonder he's so fucking good at this, for all the use his mouth gets, but does the latter come with working on computers or something? She doesn't know nor care, because she is fading fast into a haze of heat and pleasure. Blindly she reaches out and grabs ahold of his cock, not wanting to neglect him.

Wheatley groans something into her folds (probably more swearing) as if she's really interrupting something extraordinarily important. She tugs insistently on his shaft and he reluctantly withdraws from her, pulling out his fingers and giving her lips one final swipe of the tongue before looking up at her. "What on earth could you possibly want now?" he asks exasperatedly. With the context of his cock in her hand it's a ridiculous question and she smirks.

With some effort (being somewhat weak and noodly after the thorough finger-fucking she's just been given) she gets onto her knees, indicating to Wheatley that he should do the same. He follows suit and she simply grabs his shoulders before slumping back into her previous position, only this time bringing him down on top of her. It clicks in his head, then, what she's getting at, and he lifts himself up a bit to take a good, long look at her. "So beautiful." he sighs, and places a gentle kiss to her lips, and she feels that swell of affection rear up again just as he lines the head of his cock up with her slit and pushes.

Her eyes roll up in her head, and she swears she sees stars as he fills her. It's accompanied by a choked cry from him that could have started out as her name and just ended up as a primal noise. Either way it's absolutely breathtaking, and she honestly couldn't think of a more perfect moment in her life. His cock now fully inside her, Wheatley takes a moment's pause and tries to catch his breath, resting his forehead against hers and closing his eyes.

"There you go, sh-showing me up again…" he rasps, and lets out a rough-sounding laugh. He swallows hard, and Chell is surprisingly content, despite her ache for more stimulation, to simply lay there with him inside her, faces resting together, her hands wrapped around his back. His eyes finally open again, and when they do she sees something deeper than lust there, something that burns her up from the inside out.

And then, then he begins to thrust. Slowly, agonizingly slowly at first, to the point where she can feel every point of friction between them. He presses his face into her neck and his breath is warm and hot and damp on her skin. "God, you're just so _tight_ and _wet_ and _hot_," he growls, punctuating each adjective with a particularly hard thrust. "Oh, mmman alive…" he practically exhales the words before pressing his lips to her neck, sucking and teasing the skin between his teeth. His rhythm picks up and Chell finds herself pulsing against him in time.

As time wears on (or she thinks it does, the concept of time has somehow been lost to her in the frenzy of their fucking) Chell can feel the pressure building up inside her like some white hot ball of heat. She's starting to lose awareness of anything but Wheatley and the glorious feeling he's creating, his harsh, panting breaths in her ear. Her eyes squeeze shut and she tightly grips his shoulders so hard there will probably be marks left for hours as she tumbles right over the edge, her orgasm slamming into her in an explosive burst of a complete and utter sensory overload, color and sound and light and heat and joy.

"Oh, Chell…" Wheatley's strained voice sounds off just next to her ear, and from the tight, breathlessness of it and the almost frantic pace his thrusting takes she can tell he's close to his own frenzied end. And sure enough, he shortly reaches it, with a loud, wordless cry of utter ecstasy, unlike any other sound she's ever heard before.

The noise hangs in the air and they're both still, gasping for breath in the afterglow of their actions. Both are too spent and too content to make a move for a very long time. When Wheatley does finally pull out, pushing himself shakily up off of her, Chell can see the anxiousness on his face. He thinks that he somehow took this too far, she knows before he even says anything. She stretches up, kissing him tenderly on the lips, and then gives him a tired but happy smile. He smiles back and rolls off her, laying on his back next to her. He turns his head to look at her before opening his arms up. "Come here, luv." he invites her, and she snuggles up to his chest, happier now than she has been…well, for as long as she can remember. She kisses his chest as he nuzzles into her hair, and for once as she drifts off to sleep her thoughts aren't filled with GLaDOS and neurotoxin and mid-sleep ambushes. For once, while Wheatley's strong arms are wrapped around her, she feels…safe. It's a stolen moment that doesn't belong to the life she's had up until now, and she wishes she could never let it go.

In the very near future she'll come to think of this moment as a bright star in a dark, cold night, a guiding light when she needs it most, but for now, she is happy, he is happy, and that's all that matters.


End file.
